


Uneven Odds

by spacemonkey766



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Good Parent Joe West, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Season/Series 01, Protective Joe West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey766/pseuds/spacemonkey766
Summary: Barry had once said to Joe that it must have been hard to raise him, to which Joe quickly dismissed. Raising Barry wasn't hard, it was a gift. Yes, there were struggles in raising a kid who was going through trauma, a kid who had adjust to a whole new way of life, a kid who was book-smarter than Joe was. But raising Barry, loving Barry, being their for him, that was one of the easiest things Joe had ever done.





	1. Maybe your light is a seed & the darkness the dirt

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics are courtesy of the song "Uneven Odds" by Sleeping at Last. The instant I heard this incredibly beautiful song I thought of Joe West. It's like the song was written for him and his fatherly love of Barry. Joe and Barry's special bond constantly inspires me. I mean all the characters relationships are so well done on the show, but its just something about the father and son dynamic these two have that is so beautiful.
> 
>  
> 
> I also made a video to this song for Joe and Barry. It was actually my first Flash video ever. Feel free to check it out!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhT6sAfHAyc

As your guardian, I was instructed well  
To make sense of God's love in these fires of hell  
No, I don't expect you to understand  
Just to live what little life your broken heart can  
Maybe your light is a seed  
And the darkness the dirt  
In spite of the uneven odds  
Beauty lifts from the earth

_________________________________________________

 

Every parent remembered their child's 'firsts'. The big stuff like their first birthday, first steps, and even the little things like their first ice cream cone or first skinned knee. When it came to Iris, Joe remembered it all like it was yesterday; a beautiful baby girl learning how to be. Joe West had read countless parenting books when Iris was born. He read countless more after he became a single parent. As she grew, Joe became more and more confident he was doing right by her. She was smart, funny, tough and compassionate. Joe was satisfied and confident in his ability as a father. They had a good rhythm the two of them, content with their small family of two.

Then he took in Barry Allen, a young boy, his daughter's best friend, who just saw more darkness in one night then most people would ever experience. It was only supposed to be for a couple nights, so the boy had somewhere safe and familiar and comfortable to sleep instead of being thrust into child protective services right away after experiencing his whole world shatter.

The night he brought Barry home he told Iris that something bad had happened to his parents and that he would be staying with them a while. Iris took it in stride, happy to be able to help her best friend. She showed him the whole house, got him settled in the guest room, and held him when he cried, telling him everything was going to be okay. But Joe knew things were about to be different for all of them now, not just Barry.

Then they discovered the boy had no living family, both sets of grandparents deceased, his father being an only child, his mother who lost her sister to a drug overdose when she was a teen. And Joe had a decision to make. He spoke with Iris, sitting her down and explaining that Barry had no one, asking if she was okay with him staying with them on a more permanent basis. Although hesitant at first, Iris gave it no longer than a minute's thought before telling her father that Barry needed them.

Yes, Joe West was a good father. But he raised Iris from birth, knew her needs, her tells, her heart. Now he had the task of raising an eleven-year-old boy, a boy he had no hand in raising before this night. So he went back to the books. He learned that at age eleven, kids start to change; that they start to grasp the concept of abstract relationships. Joe was relieved. Barry was a smart kid, but relief came knowing that he was at an age where he would be able to understand a new dynamic between him and Joe, between him and Iris, and even him and his father.

The books said eleven years olds were capable of reflection, analysis and confronting moral and ethical questions, even if they're not emotionally equipped to be ready for the answers. He learned that eleven-year-olds start to develop a sense of social awareness and can be at risk of developing anti-social behavior, that pre-puberty comes with hormonal imbalances that can trigger strong emotions they don't always understand. Joe knew that seeing his mother's death, seeing his father locked up in prison, the story about the lightning and the man in yellow that his scared brain created to protect himself, and the sudden change in his entire lifestyle were all going to be more difficult for Barry than Joe could imagine.

Despite it all, despite every word he read, Joe wasn't prepared. He wasn't prepared to raise two preteens by himself, wasn't prepared to help a traumatized child, and least of all he wasn't prepared for growing to love the boy as if he was his own flesh and blood.

Every parent's story usually begins with their child's birth. The day of the year where their child came into the world. For Joe, however, that wasn't the case for Barry. He wasn't there in the first years of his life, had no hand in raising him from the beginning of his life. At age eleven, in the most traumatic moment of his life, Barry came to live with Joe. So when it came to Barry, Joe's experience was completely different. But much like when he became a parent to Iris, when Joe became a parent to Barry, Joe remembered his firsts just as well.


	2. First Birthday

Barry always started the story the same. 'When I was eleven; my mother was murdered, my father went to jail for a crime he didn't commit. I saw something impossible. When I was eleven, my whole world changed.'

It was true; Barry was eleven when his whole world changed. But just barely. Not that it made much of a difference in how old he was when he experienced the tragedy that would shape the rest of his life. Regardless of the number, it was too young, far too young to experience any of that. But the important difference of Barry's age was because Nora was murdered on March 18, 2000.

Four days after March 14th.

Just four days after Barry turned eleven.

Barry's entire world fell apart around him right around his birthday. Imagine being a young kid and your birthday, the most exciting day of the year, being shrouded in sadness and loss.

On only his third day in the West household, Barry made no mention of it. You'd think Joe would have realized the date because he had written Barry's birthdate countless times on the paperwork he had to fill out over the last few days to take custody of the kid.

But it wasn't until his daughter tugged on his sleeve after she got home from school, while Barry was taking a nap in the guest room upstairs, reminding her father that Nora had planned a birthday party for the weekend to celebrate Barry with Iris and a few of their friends, for tomorrow. Joe remembered now, the invitation had been pinned on the fridge for weeks and Joe had completely forgotten.

Joe didn't know what to do. The young boy hadn't had the chance to celebrate his turning of eleven before his whole world was ripped away. Do you get a surprise cake to celebrate the child when he was in mourning? Would it upset him or would it cheer him up? Instead, Joe gently tapped on the door to the guest room, 'Barry's room' he corrected in his head, discovering the boy was now awake, sitting on the bed, looking down at a photo of him and his mother that Joe had taken for him from the Allen home. Joe cautiously sat beside him. He hesitated for a moment before finally making a decision and lay a comforting hand on Barry's shoulder, waiting for the boy to look up at him.

"Hey, Barr," he said quietly, his face smiling softly down at Barry. A ghost of a smile swept across Barry's face. "I forgot to wish you a Happy Birthday."

"Thanks, Joe," he said back equally as quiet. Joe's smile widened slightly, happy that he didn't have to remind Barry for the first time in the last three days not to call him Mr. West anymore.

"What do you wanna do tonight, Barry? Tonight's your night, kid," Joe inquired with the boy, giving the shoulder beneath his hand a gentle squeeze. Barry thought for a moment, looking down at the framed photo before letting out a sigh and replacing it on the nightstand.

"Can we watch 'Singin' in the Rain'?"

"You like Singin' in the Rain?" Joe laughed softly, surprised by the young boy's request. He himself was a fan of movie musicals, his Grandmother Esther having introduced them to him at a young age because they had been her favorites. He didn't expect a kid Barry's age nowadays to like them as well.

"It's my mom's…" Barry paused, before continuing softly, "it's my favorite."

"I don't blame you. It's one of mine too," Joe nudged Barry's shoulder playfully, eliciting a small smile from the kid. "If that's what you want to do, Barry. Is there anything else you would like? To do or maybe to eat?"

Joe watched a range of thoughts cross the young child's face. Joe knew what Barry really wanted. He wanted his mother, his father, his life back. He didn't want to be here in the West household, in a room that didn't belong to him, sleeping in a bed that wasn't his. Joe's heart ached for Barry, wishing he could give it all back to him.

But Barry didn't ask for any of those things. He could have, Joe would have understood. Instead, he looked up at Joe, innocent eyes and a simple expression and for the first time, Joe had hope that Barry would retain the light he'd seen since the first time he met the kid.

"Can we have popcorn?"

And on Barry's first birthday with them Joe sat at one end of the couch, Iris in the middle with Barry to her right. All three curled under the large throw with giant bowls of popcorn on each of their laps as they watched the Gene Kelly classic and the three of them had their first movie night. It became a tradition from then on out, movie night being a sacred ritual for the newly formed family. As the credits rolled and Joe glanced over at the now sleeping kids, Joe hoped eleven would be a kinder year to Barry Allen than it had started.


	3. First Steps

Since he'd come to live with him, Joe had seen Barry angry, had seen the boy in denial, sad and numb. But one day, three months after Barry moved into the West household, Joe came home from work and found Iris sitting on the hallway floor outside the locked bedroom door of what once had been the guest room and now was becoming Barry's room. She was crying, having had pleaded with Barry to open once she had heard something shatter. Joe was able to pick the lock easily, sending Iris to her room as he was unsure of what he'd find. As he opened the door, the sight of eleven-year-old Barry in the middle of the bedroom floor on his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach as he hunched over in sobs, took Joe back. The boy could hardly breathe through his crying and Joe had yet to see him break down like this. As Joe cautiously approached he saw the shattered picture frame on the floor, the photo of a smiling family with a giant scratch down the middle of the picture amongst the broken shards of glass.

Joe knelt beside him. Resisting the urge to scoop up the boy because of the way Barry had his arms in a tight self-hug, Joe sensed that Barry wouldn't respond well. It'd only been three months in this new environment. Sure, he'd known Barry for a while now, their families became close since Iris and Barry became friends in school. They'd even hugged before, the first time in thanks for letting him sleep over, the second when Barry almost drowned in the community pool one summer and Joe had saved him. They were comfortable with each other and Joe knew Barry felt safe with him. But in this new dynamic, where Joe was essentially replacing Henry as the father figure in Barry's life, Joe had to tread gently. And right now Barry didn't need comfort, he needed support. So Joe settled for placing a hand on Barry's back, rubbing small circles, letting him know he was there if he needed more.

"It's ruined," Barry said between sobs, looking up to Joe. "It's all ruined."

"No Barry," Joe said softly, eyes locking onto Barry's. "It's just a little damaged. We can fix it. It'll all be okay."

"It won't be the same," Barry responded, blinking through the tears. Joe knew this was about more than the photo.

"No it won't," Joe sighed. "But that doesn't mean it won't be okay."

Barry seemed to ponder Joe's words before nodding, sobs slowing. He unfolded his arms from around his abdomen and wiped at his face.

"How about you go get the broom and I'll help you clean up, okay?" Joe said softly, still resisting the urge to wrap Barry up in his arms. Barry nodded again and got up, carefully avoiding the broken glass and leaving the room. Joe looked around the room as he stood. In the three months that Barry had occupied it, other than the bedding with planets Joe had picked out for him to replace the drab gray one that previously occupied the guest bed, the only sense that this room belonged to someone now was a few packed boxes in the corner and the family photo frame that now lay smashed on the floor.

After the Allen house was finished being processed and no longer a crime scene, Joe had been able to gather some of Barry's belongings. He'd taken all the clothes but there wasn't much Barry had asked for and he didn't dare take the young boy back to that house. Barry had only asked for his books, his telescope, and a few random toys. Looking around the former room of the eleven-year-old, it didn't seem like much. What he quickly realized was though as he packed up the boy's belongings was when you felt like you've lost everything, your parents and home, these types of things didn't really matter much. As he looked at the boxes of the packed belongings, Joe knew it was time to make Barry feel like this could be his home.

The next day was a Friday that Joe had off. Joe had picked Iris and Barry up from school and took them to the mall, telling Barry he could pick out any five things he wanted for his room. He also told Iris she could finally get that purple Chandelier light for her own bedroom that she had her eyes on so she didn't feel left out. After picking out a dresser with different colored graphic drawers, a new lamp, a poster of the solar system, a set of dinosaur bookends, and a glow in the dark rocketship knick knack that Joe sensed had more to do with Barry's fear of the dark than anything else, Joe and Barry had spent the evening rearranging Barry's new space. When Barry finally began unpacking those boxes from his old life, Joe knew that Barry had taken his first steps into accepting the West home as his own. As the kids were sent to bed, Joe could tell Barry was in better spirits than the day before as he bounded the stairs two at a time. When Barry came running downstairs just a few minutes later and threw his arms around Joe in a tight hug, Joe knew Barry had found the repaired and newly framed photo on his nightstand.


	4. Joe West's son

The first time Joe had called Barry son was when he was comforting an angry boy, six months into living with them, the night after the trial that sentenced Henry Allen to life in prison. Joe had made Mac & Cheese, Barry refused to eat, angered and without hope knowing his father wouldn't be coming any time soon. Joe had appealed to Barry to allow himself to give in to his emotions, to not feel like he had to be strong all of the time. And for the first time, Barry cried in Joe's arms as he hugged him, seeking out comfort from the man who had taken him in, and Joe hugged him back, holding him close as he told him 'it's okay, son.'

But the first time he had called Barry his son and meant it as more than just a word was a Saturday morning, just over a year after Barry had moved in with them. A lot had changed in thirteen months. Their guest room was officially referred to and thought of as Barry's room now by all members of the household, including Barry. He had hung up posters and started treating the room like it was his own, resigning to the fact that the room he grew up in just a few blocks from this house was no longer his. Joe, Iris, and Barry were becoming a family, all familiarizing themselves with this new dynamic and sinking into it comfortably. Barry had stopped trying to run away, stopped shouting to Joe that he put his dad in prison, stopped fighting this new normal. He was still struggling with the loss of his mother, the loss of his father in his life, but his outbursts of anger were almost nonexistent now and he was becoming content with living with Iris and Joe. But the nightmares were still frequent, anxiety plagued him often, and much like anyone would after experiencing tragedy, Barry struggled. Joe knew they had a long way to go, but he could see the shift in Barry, returning to the bright boy radiating light that he'd first met when Iris brought him home when they were eight and introduced Barry to her dad as her new best friend.

But it was days like this, days Joe knew they would have for a long time because after all, Barry was still a child suffering.

Iris was at basketball practice. Barry had waved at her from the bottom step of the staircase as he watched Iris gather her coat and gym bag before running out the front door to the minivan filled with her friends. Joe waved his goodbye as he closed the door, turning to where Barry sat looking expectantly at Joe.

"Please don't make me go, Joe," Barry spoke quietly, eyes pleading. It was almost enough to make Joe acquiesce.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Joe sighed, "but you know you have to."

"But I'm getting better! I haven't had nightmares in a couple weeks, I don't get angry anymore, and I haven't talked about the man in yel-" Barry snapped his mouth shut, realizing who he was about to mention.

Joe took a deep breath. He didn't want Barry to ever feel like he couldn't talk to him about anything but he knew Barry was trying to prove that he didn't need to see the child psychologist. Barry had a standing session every Saturday; they were analyzing him, helping him work through his trauma, trying to convince him he did not see what he thought he saw the night Henry killed Nora, helping Barry become a normal kid again. Early on multiple psychologists had diagnosed Barry with post-traumatic stress disorder. Joe had been on the force long enough to know how PTSD could affect someone's life. It manifested as nightmares, flashbacks, fight-or-flee responses, anger outbursts, and hyper-vigilance, among other symptoms. Joe had seen all these things in Barry. And the truth was Joe did see an improvement in Barry over the last year, but the boy still had a long way to go.

"Barry, you know this is to help you right?" Joe said, moving to stand in front of where the twelve-year-old boy sat on the steps. He crouched down to be eye level with Barry who had hung his head down, reaching up to grip Barry's shoulders gently. "This is to help you. I'm not making you go just to be mean, Barr. I care about you."

"I know. I just…" Barry took in a shaky breath before finally looking up at Joe, "I'm just tired of being a freak."

"Oh, Barr," Joe rubbed up and down the boy's arms. The broken look in Barry's eyes was too much for Joe. Barry had given many reasons for not wanting to go to therapy before; he didn't need to talk to anyone, he could talk to Iris, he didn't want to talk about what happened, about his mom or dad. But this was the first time Joe had heard Barry give him a reason that had nothing to do with the tragedy, but with his own sense of self.

"I just want to be normal," Barry's eyes were big and pleading with Joe, brimmed with tears just ready to spill.

"It's okay, son," Joe said, wrapping his arms around the twelve-year-old and pulling him close. Barry wrapped his arms around Joe, relieved that the man was not mad at him. Joe held him tight, rubbing soothing circles on Barry's back as the boy calmed down.

This wasn't the first time Joe had called Barry 'son'. He used it occasionally but always was cautious using that term as a way to address Barry out of fear of upsetting the boy. A few of the times it was well received but some of the times had resulted in yelling matches that had included the words 'you're not my father.' But this was the first time Joe had said it not as just a term, but with the intent of expressing to Barry that he indeed was a very important part of Joe's life and he was here for him. And when Barry hugged him tight instead of pulling away, Joe knew that Barry had understood. It was as he held the crying boy that Joe realized that affection for the young boy had grown into a love. What had been a desire to help a boy who had suffered tragedy had turned into a fierce need to protect, from heartache, from pain, from further tragedy.

They skipped the therapy session that Saturday with a promise from Barry that he would not fight Joe next Saturday. Instead, Joe took Barry out for the day, for a drive and lunch. They talked the whole day. It was then that Joe promised himself he had to do more for Barry. From that day on after each session, Joe continued the lunch and a drive tradition. It would start with Barry climbing into the car after the session and Joe would ask him if he wanted to talk about it. Sometimes Barry would wipe his eyes and shake his head, sometimes he would politely decline, and sometimes Barry would tell Joe everything. Then they would go for pizza and try a new combination of toppings each time, and just talk.

This tradition carried on for the next three years that Barry continued therapy, although it only took them a year and a half to perfect their pizza topping combination: jalapeños, pepperoni, olives. The time between the two of them gave them a chance to get to know each other more than just as Iris' friend and Iris' dad, to find a rhythm that was uniquely Joe and Barry. The two began to create a bond between the two of them, not relying on Iris as the tie between them. Soon Barry started to open up to Joe more and more until Joe became the person he could turn to.

Joe had done more than most when he took Barry in when no family stepped up to claim him, to keep him from being lost in the system. And yes he was keeping him healthy and safe, but now he had to make Barry feel loved and normal. That his role as guardian needed to go deeper, that Barry Allen was to become more than his responsibility, but also his blessing. He'd been given the gift of his daughter, and now Joe had also been given the gift of a son.


	5. Barry Allen's dad

Joe remembered the day he realized that Barry was not only his son but that he was Barry's dad. The first time Barry had said it was a turning point for the two of them. It wasn't something ever used before, Barry still feeling fiercely loyal to his birth father despite the man's conviction of the murder of Barry's mother. And if Joe was being honest, the way Barry said Joe's name always sounded like the way Iris said 'Dad.' It was a tone, a feeling, an understanding between Joe and Barry.

It was about 4 pm when Joe got home from working an early shift. Joe had one foot on the top step when he saw the splintered wood around the door lock. He quickly sidestepped and pressed himself back against the house between the front door and window. Peeking just enough to peer into the window, seeing his living room in complete disarray but no intruders in immediate sight. Pressing himself back up against the wall of the house he quickly pulled out his cell phone and called Iris.

"Hey, Dad," Iris greeted after a few rings.

"Baby, where are you?" Joe asked immediately, grateful he had decided on getting the fourteen-year-olds each a cellphone, regardless of the heavy phone bill.

"I'm at Jenn's. What's wrong?"

"Is Barry with you?"

"No, he said he was going home to work on his AP homework."

"Dammit. Okay, Iris stay at Jenn's until you hear from me okay?"

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Baby, I gotta go. Someone's in the house. I will call you soon. I love you." Joe hung up and quickly dialed Barry. "Come on, pick up, pick up." The phone rang until Joe could hear Barry's voicemail message. "Shit." Dialing dispatch, Joe quickly was connected to the operator and requested back up and a paramedic. He then pocketed the phone and pulled out his weapon from the holster, taking the safety off.

Joe looked down the road and saw no vehicles that didn't look like they belonged. The rational part of his brain, the cop part, reasoned with him to wait for back up. But the reckless part, the parent part, knew he couldn't stand down here and wait, not while there was a chance Barry, for all intents and purposes his son, was inside.

In a low crouch, Joe gently opened the door and slipped through, gun held out and ready. Joe heard nothing in the house, no voices, no sounds, no indication there was anyone here. As he slowly swept the room, gun ready, his eyes quickly scanned the room, noting the open drawers, contents of the shelves and bookcase tipped over and strewn across the floor, end table and lamp knocked over. The entire bottom floor was clear and Joe knew the intruders were long gone. Still, he climbed up the stairs cautiously. As he cleared the first landing, he heard a faint noise coming from down the hall. He was up the rest of the stairs in a matter of seconds. Peering into Iris' room first, declaring it empty, as he made his way to Barry's bedroom, the sound he heard was louder now and Joe could make out the sound of a muffled whimper. His first instinct was to run to it but he had to secure the rest of the upstairs. Moving down the rest of the hall, clearing the office, bathroom and his own bedroom with a quick sweep confirmed that the intruders had left. Joe ran the few feet from the end of the hall and came to a skid in front of Barry's open door. As he entered the room, noting that it, like the rest of the upstairs rooms, were subject to the same treatment as the downstairs; ravaged for valuables. He heard the distinctive noise of heavy breathing and low, feeble sounds expressing fear and pain coming from behind the closet door. Gun still ready in one hand, Joe slowly opened the closet door. He quickly holstered his weapon at the sight before him.

Barry was sitting on the floor of the closet, back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest. His arms were wrapped around his bent legs, wrists meeting to touch his ankles. His ankles had been taped together, as well as his wrists before more tape was wrapped over his ankles and bound wrists, leaving Barry forced into the curled up position. A strip of tape was stretched over his eyes and a few strips were layered over his mouth.

Barry was pulling at the tape pinning his wrists to ankles and Joe could tell hear the terrified cries beneath the tape, Barry breathing heavily through his nose. Joe dropped to his knees beside the boy. He had a painful bruise forming on his left cheek and a bleeding gash over his right eyebrow. Barry flinched as Joe touched his face, trying to get away from the person he couldn't see.

"Barr, it's okay. It's me, it's Joe," he said, resting his hand on the side of Barry's neck in a comforting touch. He heard Barry whimper behind the tape, his body language shifting ever so slightly from panic to trust, instead of pulling away from the touch he leaned into it. With his hand still resting on Barry's neck, Joe used his other to reach out and carefully peel the duct tape from his eyes.

"It's alright, son," Joe said softly as he saw the fear in the boy's wide eyes turn into relief as the darkness was lifted and Joe was in his line of sight. Joe gently removed the layered duct tape from Barry's mouth next, apologetic eyes focused on Barry at the stinging removing the tape was causing. Between Barry's teeth was a balled up sock further gagging him. As Barry attempted to spit it out Joe grabbed the end sticking out and eased it from Barry's jaw.

"Joe," the teen sobbed as the tears fell down his cheeks, his body shaking. Those pain filled terrified eyes Joe had seen before and broke Joe's heart to see them again. Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out his folding knife, quickly cutting at the tape around Barry's ankles and wrists. As the tape severed, Barry immediately threw his arms around Joe and held onto him tightly. Joe dropped the knife and held the boy close against him, tucking Barry's head under his chin so that his face was buried into Joe's shoulder.

"It's okay, you're okay," Joe whispered, repeated, to the sobbing, shivering fourteen year old, stroking the back of Barry's head. "I got you, son."

Barry cried for a short time into Joe's shoulder, Joe holding him as close against his chest as possible as he rocked him back and forth gently as the kid sobbed in a mix of fear and relief. As his breathing calmed and the sobbing ceased, Barry pulled away slowly, aware and uncaring that tears were still rolling down his cheeks. He could sense Joe was reluctant to ease his embrace.

"Are you alright?" Joe pulled away only enough to rest one hand upon Barry's bruised left cheek, prodding it gently to make sure it was just a bruise before resting his hand there, wiping the tears away with his thumb. Barry nodded.

"What happened? Did they hurt you?" Joe asked, still cupping Barry's left cheek as his other hand inspected the cut above Barry's right eye before pushing back the hair away from Barry's forehead over and over, attempting to comfort the kid. 

"I was doing my homework in my room and I guess I fell asleep 'cause the next thing I remember is waking up to someone holding a pillow over my face. I couldn't breathe," Barry spoke in a strained voice. Joe moved his right hand down to lay on the side of Barry's neck and rubbed it comfortingly. "I passed out, I guess…and then I woke up on my bed and I couldn't move or talk or see. All I could do was hear a few guys, three I think, tearing up the house. They were downstairs when I came to and then they came upstairs and back into my room. And then they hit me and shoved me in the closet and I thought they were going to kill me…" Barry's voice trembled. He paused in his retelling to close his eyes and try to calm himself down, counting to ten in his head. Joe recognized it immediately, a tactic Barry was taught from one of the child psychologists to calm the anxiety attacks he sometimes had as a result of his childhood trauma.

"Barr…"

"Joe, I'm okay," Barry tried to reassure, bringing one of his shaking hands to clasp around Joe's wrist on the side of his face. Joe nodded, helping Barry to his feet and guiding them to both sit on the edge of Barry's bed in the center of the bedroom, shoulder to shoulder.

Hearing Barry's story, Joe's thoughts never once went to the items in their house he was sure were stolen. Only two thoughts circled in his head. His first was one of gratitude that Iris hadn't been home too, although he had wished neither of his kids had to be home to experience this. The other thought, a thought Joe had many times before that once again he found himself asking the universe: why Barry? After everything he'd already been through, why did the kid keep having to suffer? Seeing the fear in Barry's eyes, the anguish of experience, Joe wished Barry could be spared of having to once again call on the quiet strength he had developed over years of dealing with trauma.

"I was so scared, Joe. I didn't know what they were going to do to me," Barry's voice was quiet, anxious, eyes closed as he rubbed at the red skin of his wrists where the tape had been.

"What do you need, Barr? Tell me how to help you?" Joe asked, putting his hand on Barry's shoulder. Barry's eyes were still closed as he took a few deep breaths.

"All I really need is my Dad right now," he said softly as he breathed.

"Okay," Joe nodded, rubbing up and down Barry's shoulder. "Okay, we'll go visit your pops at Iron Heights once we get you checked out by an EMT when they arrive."

Joe could feel Barry stiff slightly beside him before Barry raised his hand up to clasp the hand that rest upon his shoulder, looking up at the man.

"That's not who I meant, Joe," Barry smiled shyly up at the man he was referring to. Barry didn't have the opportunity to say anything else as Joe pulled him by the shoulder towards him. Barry brought his arms up around Joe's shoulders, holding him tight enough that his hands grabbed his own forearms as Joe wrapped his arms around the boy's back in a tight hug.

Joe faintly heard the sounds of backup entering the home and he knew he should meet them to let them know the house was clear but he couldn't bring himself to let Barry go, to let his son go.


	6. First Words

"What the hell were you thinking?" Joe said as he handed the bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel into Barry's outstretched left hand a little more forcefully than necessary. Barry accepted the wrapped peas from where he sat on the couch, head back against the headrest with a tissue up his nose to stem the bleeding.

"Do we have anything more than a bag of peas?" Barry groaned, ignoring Joe's question as he placed the bag of peas against his left eye where a red and blue colored bruise was beginning to darken.

"Well, when I went grocery shopping this week I wasn't anticipating needing the whole freezer section for my brat son," Joe stood up and headed back to the kitchen, filling a small plastic bag with some ice cubes. On his way back into the living room he grabbed the roll of ace bandaging he retrieved from the bathroom earlier and came to sit on the coffee table across from where Barry sat. "Now let's try this again. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Do we have to talk about this now?" the sixteen-year-old groaned as Joe gently grabbed Barry's right hand, placing the small bag of ice to lay atop Barry's bruised and cracked knuckles.

"You got in a fight, a fight that your teacher claims the first punch was thrown by you. So yeah, we're talking about this now." As Joe expertly wrapped the ace bandaging over and around Barry's hand and the ice bag, his voice was that tone of fatherly sternness and no-nonsense that over the years, and currently with raising two sixteen-year-olds, he'd perfected. "So last time I'm asking. What in the hell were you thinking? Barry Allen doesn't throw punches."

"He does if the other guy is being a prick," Barry said under his breath. Despite the smart ass response, Joe fought back the satisfied smile as Barry straightened up in his seat at Joe's tone.

"Barr."

Barry sighed, pulling the peas away from his eye to gently prod at the bruising flesh. Barry had gotten a week suspension, his principle calling Joe in the middle of the day after Barry got into a fight between classes. Now, Barry wasn't a troublemaker but this wasn't the first time he'd been suspended. There was the time in seventh grade where Barry thought mixing Glycerol and Potassium Permanganate to make a chemical fire would be a winning science fair entry. He did get an 'A', but also got a week suspension. There was also the time in ninth grade when Barry had attempted to defend Iris from Tony Woodward who had said something inappropriate to her. Woodward ended up throwing Barry into the lockers, Iris kicked Tony in the nuts, and all three got suspended. But Barry Allen was a protector, not a fighter. Throwing a punch and starting a fight was not the kid's style.

"What happens when I turn eighteen, Joe?" Barry said, seemingly out of nowhere, looking up from the bag of peas to where Joe was waiting for an explanation. This question instead caught Joe off guard. Confusion must have registered on his face because Barry continued. "You take me in as my guardian but when I turn eighteen I'm an adult and then you're not responsible for me anymore. So is that it? At 18 we part ways and that's it?"

"Barry, where is this coming from?" Joe asked.

"Never mind," Barry said nothing else, just leaned his head back once more and placed the peas back over his bruised eye.

"Nu-uh, Barr," Joe grabbed the hand holding the peas and pulled it away from Barry's face, pulling on the arm slightly to force Barry to straighten up. Barry reluctantly met Joe's eyes. "Talk to me."

"Why did you even keep me?" Barry asked, desperate eyes looking to Joe for understanding. "You gave me a place to stay after my mom's murder, after my dad was locked up. But why keep me? Who in their right mind takes in some eleven-year-old kid who's going to be nothing but trouble and trauma for the rest of his life."

"Stop it. You were not, are not, 'nothing but trouble and trauma'," Joe didn't even hesitate with his answer. "Barry, what's going on with you? First, you ask me if I'm gonna toss you out when you turn 18 and now you're asking me why I took you in the first place. What's going on in that head, kid?" Barry offered no explanation, not to why he fought, not to his weird line of questioning. "Talk to me, son."

"Son," Barry exhaled quietly, looking down at his bruised hand. Barry said nothing else, rising to his feet to leave the room but Joe stood up as well, moving to block Barry's escape. Barry just stopped short of colliding with Joe, head down, body visibly shaking.

"Please move, Joe," Barry said in a low, steady voice.

"Nope. Not happening, Barr," Joe replied casually. Barry's head stayed bowed, breathing through his nose, body rigid, eyes remaining fixed on the floor.

"Can't even stand to look at me, Barr?" Joe sighed, staring at his son, resisting the urge to shake him. "Talk to me."

"Just let me go, Joe," Barry's eyes darted up, his pleading eyes looking into Joe's concerned ones.

"You're not going anywhere, Barry," Joe said, standing toe to toe and eye to eye with Barry, for the first time wishing Barry hadn't had that growth spurt last year. Barry just clenched his jaw and lunged to leave. Joe knew what to expect though and grabbed Barry by the arms. Barry brought his fists up and clutched at the sleeves of Joe's shirt. Barry struggled, trying to push Joe away from him, but Joe just held him steady at arm's length.

"Barry, you are not going anywhere and neither am I. Ever, you hear me," Joe spoke urgently. Barry stopped his thrashing then, shaking as Joe held onto his arms. Joe, ducking his head to look into Barry's downcast eyes, spoke even quieter now. "You really think I'd toss you aside, Barr? I don't care if you're, sixteen or eighteen or forty-five. This is your home."

As Barry looked up at him finally, Joe knew that Barry believed him. They'd had this conversation before. Barry recognized that Joe could have turned him over to the state when they found no family to take him in after his father's conviction. And Barry knew that he loved Joe like a father, and Joe loved him like a son. Something had shaken the young man though and Joe needed to get to the bottom of this.

"Sit," Joe instructed, steering Barry to sit back on the couch. Joe sat beside him this time, grabbing the bag of peas and holding it tenderly against Barry's bruised eye and gently easing Barry's head back against the couch. "Now, for the love of all things holy, please talk to me."

"We were in History class and discussing family lineage and how we'd be surprised to find where our ancestors come from," Barry sighed, eyes closing as Joe pressed the cold relief against the swelling skin. "Our teacher gave us the assignment to go home and ask our parents about our family history. Iris and I were leaving the classroom and I heard this prick Eric from behind ask his buddy if he thought that 'Allen' came from a long line of Iron Heights residents or if I'd just steal Iris' answers since I didn't have anything else."

'Fucking kids' Joe thought but didn't voice.

"Come on Barr, you don't usually let that stuff get to you," Joe said instead.

"I know, I know. It wasn't even that clever," Barry's voice was agitated, shaking with anger. Since Barry came to live with the West's, since his father was arrested for murdering his mother, Barry had been on the receiving end of comments and negative attention, but usually brushed it off as stupidity and ignorance.

Before their local area got accustomed to their new arrangement, when Barry was younger and he and Joe were out just the two of them, as a black father and adopted white son they sometimes attracted sharp glares or inquisitive looks. There was a time Joe could recall when well-intentioned shoppers followed Joe and Barry out of the mall to make sure Barry wasn't being kidnapped or when would-be heroes come up to Barry in the cereal aisle and asked, 'are you OK?'—even though Joe was standing right there. It was an unconventional site, Joe understood this. Transracial adoption wasn't something you saw often. Luckily Central City was relatively progressive and he knew that despite the attention, Joe could mostly write it off as innocent curiosity. But there were times Joe had to defend his right as a parent, prove to people that he was Barry's guardian.

"Then what, Barr?" Joe pulled away the now half defrosted bag from Barry's face and looked to the young man as he shifted slightly where he sat to face Joe.

"When I went to visit my dad a couple weeks ago he asked me to change my last name; said now that I was older he didn't want me being judged for being his son, losing opportunities because the name 'Allen' was tarnished," Barry's spoke in a strained, pained voice. "He wants me to ask you to adopt me."

Joe wasn't surprised by Barry's revelation. Henry had called him from prison requesting the same thing a few weeks ago. It had angered Joe quite frankly because Joe had asked Henry to give up parental rights three years ago and the man refused, not ready to completely surrender his son. But it'd been five years now since he'd been arrested and Henry had resigned to the fact that Barry was now closer with Joe then himself, better off with having Joe as a father than being the son of Henry Allen.

"How do you feel about that?" was all Joe asked. He didn't need to burden Barry with the adult logistics, didn't need to tell Barry that he'd wanted nothing more than to adopt him for years.

"I'm happy here, Joe. I look at you and I see a Dad. I feel like your son, I wanna be your son," Barry confessed to the older man, his good hand fiddling with the ice and bandage around his injured one. "But I don't wanna stop being his, stop being hers. I don't want to change my last name. I don't want to give up my family but I really want to be a part of yours."

Joe knew the answer before Barry even spoke but it was the first time these words had been spoken. Joe wished for something else but understood. There was a great deal of difference between a legal guardianship and an adoption. While one gives an individual the responsibility to act as a temporary parent of a child, the other permanently relinquishes the rights and the responsibilities of a child's biological parents. Although it was just paperwork, to Barry it was more than that. Joe couldn't blame him for it.

"Listen to me, Barr," Joe said, putting his hand on Barry's shoulder. A heavy pause lingered between them as whatever Joe was going to say next hung in the air. Barry could see it on his face as the older man gathered the thoughts he was trying to form into words. "Adopted, foster, guardian, it doesn't matter. Those are just words. Whatever is going to bring you peace is what we'll do. West or Allen, it doesn't matter. They're not mutually exclusive, okay? You're not a part of my family, Barry. Together, you, me and Iris, we make a family. Your mother and father, they're still yours too. But you are also mine, you hear me?"

Barry didn't have the opportunity to respond before Joe pulled him by the shoulder towards him. Barry brought his arms up around Joe's shoulders, holding him tight enough that his hand grabbed his own forearm as Joe wrapped his arms around the boy's back.

"I love you, Joe."

It was then that Joe realized he and Barry were finally and for the first time on the same page. Yes, Barry mourned his mother and missed his father, but Barry now knew he didn't want to be without Joe and Iris. Joe knew Barry was in this for the long haul, just like Joe was. This was their home, this was his son, and he was his father. This was their life.

From the time Joe took in Barry, as a foster parent he was told to remember that a foster child belongs to someone else. They are not your children. They already have parents and families. You are just a temporary substitute for their real parents. For Joe, time and experience proved differently. Foster parenting Barry had become one of the most rewarding but exhausting journeys he'd experienced in life. There was a deep and satisfying reward knowing that he was providing a safe and loving place for this child to live. But as that satisfaction turned to love, as his foster son became his son, Joe struggled with the idea that he may one day have to let Barry go. He came to peace with it by learning to envision the healing that he hoped and prayed would happen for Barry. Joe kept his mind focused on the positive and hoped he'd never have to let Barry go. And for Joe, he now knew it would never come. Even when Barry eventually moved out or if Henry was ever released, Barry had found his home.

"I love you, too, son."


	7. Darkness exists to make light truly count

'As the years move on these questions take shape  
Are you getting stronger or is time shifting weight?  
No one expects you to understand  
Just to live what little life your mended heart can  
You're much too young now  
So I write these words down,  
Darkness exists to make light truly count.'

________________________________________________________

 

For Joe, he never regretted committing to being Barry's dad. For all intents and purposes, when this kid came into his home he also entered his heart. Yes, there were times it was a struggle, times he envied Henry Allen. Henry was there first. He changed those diapers and watched the first steps, but as a foster parent, Joe was also privy to a lot of firsts. Sometimes, they were the bad firsts, like when Barry and Iris stole his car for the first time or when he found the remains of his workbench in the garage after Barry's first failed experiment. More than that though, they were the good firsts, like his first science fair win and first college acceptance letter. He may have missed Barry's first steps, first words, and the like when a child is brought into the world. But it was the firsts that a parent is there to witness their child become a person, where a child finds their sense of self and place in the world, Joe was there for.

It seemed like every milestone, every important moment in Barry's life—his first dance, going into high school, learning to drive, going on his first date—all of it was tainted by the bitter fact that his parents weren't there to share it with him. But they were also enlightened by the fact that he was blessed to share them with Joe and Iris. Barry wasn't naive to the fact of what Joe sacrificed to take him in, how easy it could have been to put Barry into the foster care system. He was grateful and loved his life.

Barry had once said to Joe that it must have been hard to raise him, to which Joe quickly dismissed. Raising Barry wasn't hard, it was a gift. Yes, there were struggles in raising a kid who was going through trauma, a kid who had to adjust to a whole new way of life, a kid who was book-smarter than Joe was. But raising Barry, loving Barry, being there for him, that was one of the easiest things Joe had ever done.

It was the firsts without Barry that nearly broke Joe. The night Barry got struck by lighting would go down as one of the most difficult days of his life, up there with the day he had to lie to Iris about Francine's death and the day he got the call from Grandma Esther's aid that she was gone.

He remembered calling into dispatch to report Chyre's death from the radio in the car because his cell phone wasn't working and Eileen who he'd worked with for years barely let him finish before telling him about what happened. She started with Barry had been hurt and his brain only processed scattered words after hearing that; blackout in the city, terrible storm, lightning through the lab skylight, Barry struck and unresponsive. Captain Singh had gotten a hold of Iris and she was at the hospital now with Barry.

That first night in the hospital sitting by Barry's bedside was like nothing Joe had experienced before; the young man's face pale and drawn, various cuts from the shattered glass the only color on his skin. He'd gone into cardiac arrest three times since he'd been brought in but was finally stable. A ventilator tube fed him oxygen while he lay comatose. Iris sat in a chair beside Joe, her hand holding on tightly to him as Joe's other hand held tightly to the unresponsive hand of Barry's.

For nine months, Joe had to deal with a slew of new firsts. Joe remembered the first family dinner, first Iris' birthday followed by Joe's without him. Then Christmas and New Years and soon Barry's first birthday in 14 years that Joe couldn't celebrate with him. Joe missed the boy more then he could bear. He so wished for Barry to just open his eyes, to come back to them, even if it meant they'd had to start from scratch. Joe knew the chances of Barry waking without some sort of brain damage or physical handicap was slim with the physical trauma he endured, but Joe would take him any way he could get him. He just didn't want to experience any more moments without his son.

Luckily those firsts were the only of their kind. But as clear as the pain of those firsts, Joe remembered the joy of the first time he saw his son after waking up.

Joe had been in the bullpen at CCPD, talking with a few other officers, barely noticing the sound of the elevator dinging from the across the station. Joe heard two laughs then grow louder as they neared; the two laughs intertwined was something he'd heard countless times before and Joe knew he was imagining it. But he looked up and coming towards him was Iris, arm linked with Barry Allen. It was Joe's first time seeing that smile again, the first steps towards him, the first time seeing those green eyes open in nine months and Joe fought the urge to cry.

"Barry," he said no louder than a whisper as he smiled.

"Hey, Joe," Barry smiled brilliantly at him, and Joe immediately opened his arms wide to which Barry embraced. He held him tight, eyes closed, and for the first time in nine months, Joe felt he could breathe again, like the light that had been dimmed was suddenly bright again. And much like that first night that Joe brought Barry home, something told Joe that this would be the first day of a new life for them all.


End file.
